


In Vino Veritas

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Drunk Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mission goes bad, Clint and Phil end up in each other's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clint_Coulson_Exchange_2014](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Clint_Coulson_Exchange_2014).



Everything had been going exactly to plan until the back doors of the van burst open and a HYDRA agent was spraying Coulson's team with bullets from a chattering Uzi. Clint, who was in a sniper position because Coulson was careful and thorough, picked the guy off within seconds, but the lead had already started to fly. Coulson took two in the vest but still managed to get his gun out and pointed in the right direction, just in time to see Clint drop two more bad guys and Natasha get the last one. So he called for backup, and medics.

Clint arrived from his perch at a run.

"Everybody okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Nat said through gritted teeth, and Clint could see blood seeping through her fingers where she was clutching her thigh. She jerked her head towards Coulson, who was on his knees next to Kovin.

"Shit," said Clint, and dropped to his knees next to Coulson. "You okay, sir?"

"Just some bruises. Help me put pressure on this." Coulson had both hands pressed tightly to Kovin's side, but blood was pooling on the concrete.

Clint put his hands on top of Coulson's and tried to breathe calmly and evenly through the adrenalin rush. When he'd seen Coulson go down, it felt like his heart had stopped. And then only started up again when Coulson rolled over, gun in hand.

"Where's the med team, this kid doesn't have very much time, dammit." Coulson's voice was tight and angry, and Clint knew why.

"Wasn't your fault, sir. Couldn't have known that the idiot was gonna start shooting up the hand-off. Good thing you put me up high, otherwise you and Nat might look like him." Clint's guts clenched up on him as he said the words, and he thought that at least he'd have a good excuse if he lost his breakfast on the pavement. Then Coulson turned to look behind him, and a second later Clint heard the running footsteps.

"Multiple gunshot wounds to the lower abdomen. He's lost a lot of blood," Coulson was saying as the medics dropped down next to them and started to unpack their gear. Clint did exactly what he was told, not letting up on the pressure until a medic had started an IV and was sliding a pressure dressing in place of their hands. Then he got out of the way.

Two hours later he was sitting in a briefing room at SHIELD headquarters, going over, again, how a simple meet-and-buy had turned into a bloodbath. Two hours after that he was sitting on the sofa in Phil's office, tapping out his after-action report.

Phil's computer dinged, and Clint looked up. Phil's computer only made noise when there was a priority message, and Clint hoped that they didn't have to head back out. He needed a pizza and a couple of beers and some downtime. They both did, he thought, seeing the tight expression on Phil's face.

"Bad news, boss?" he asked, trying to sound relaxed.

"Kovin is out of surgery, but he's in critical condition," Phil said. "You just about done with your report?"

Clint recognized Phil's tone from long years of working together. It said, 'I need to get out of here but I'm barely willing to admit that to myself, let alone someone else.' Clint was fluent in Phil's various tones of voice, his body language, his collection of little tells. The way his eyes crinkled when he was amused, but not showing it. The way his tongue peeped out of his mouth when he was intent. The way he'd cross his arms tightly across his chest (sometimes with a folder or binder in them) when he was anxious. All these little signs that Clint had seen, and paid attention to, catalogued, and learned the meaning of...

"So very done. Don't know about you boss, but I'm starving and could really go for some pizza. Maybe with a beer or two to wash it down?"

"I could eat. My place?" The suggestion sounded casual, but Phil had gone perfectly still as he said it, so Clint knew it was important to him.

"Sounds good," he said, giving Phil a bright smile. "Your sofa's way more comfy than mine."

"That's because you picked yours off the street corner," Phil said, standing up and shrugging his suit jacket on.

"Hey, it was a perfectly good sofa that someone was throwing away just because one of those little feet was missing. I stuck a brick under it, and it's great. Just not as comfortable as yours, that's all."

The easy, familiar banter made Clint feel better, and from the way Phil's shoulders relaxed and the little crinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes, it seemed to be making Phil feel better, too. So he kept it up on the walk to Phil's apartment, talking about other perfectly good things he had seen out on the curb near his place, though he didn't admit to 'rescuing' them.

Clint called for pizza while Phil changed out of his suit into a pair of SHIELD-issue grey sweats and a faded old Army t-shirt. Clint thought he looked adorable, but kept that strictly to himself. Phil had never shown the least little sign of being interested in Clint 'like that'. And Clint had been watching. Carefully. So he kept his longing buried deep, and instead made the most of the easy, comfortable friendship they'd developed over the years.

They both slumped on the sofa with one of the local, organic microbrews that Phil stocked in his fridge, and Clint flipped through the shows Phil had recorded since the last time they'd had downtime like this. There was his usual collection of bizarre reality shows, and Dog Cops, which Clint had long suspected Phil followed just for him.

"Supernanny or Storage Locker Wars?" Clint asked.

"I'm further behind on Supernanny," Phil said, so Clint cued up the oldest episode and hit 'Play'.

Clint had asked him, once, late at night and mellowed by a few beers, why he watched this stuff. Phil had sighed, and then quietly explained:

_"When I was in the Army, there was a lot of patriotic propaganda. We were constantly being reminded that we were fighting for Mom and Apple Pie, even though we were in Kuwait defending some sultan's oil well. There were posters of happy all-American families having a backyard Fourth-of-July barbecue; dad grilling, mom with a big bowl of salad in her hands, Bobby riding his shiny red bike and pretty little Jane in a pink dress clutching a doll... All of them blond and blue-eyed and clean and well-fed. That was the America we were supposed to be protecting with our lives._

_"When Nick Fury recruited me into SHIELD, he took me to the neighborhood he grew up in. Showed me the apartment building he lived in as a kid. It's a crackhouse, now. There was a fourteen-year-old girl passed out with a needle in her arm and a naked baby sitting next to her in a puddle of its own shit. 'You come to work for me,' Nick said, 'You remember, every single day, that these are the people we're fighting for. These are the people you need to be willing to die for. Otherwise you're no use to me.'_

_"So I watch this stuff because of these people." He'd gestured at the picture on the screen of a woman with stringy hair who was screaming at her three-year-old to pick up his toys while she sat in a La-Z Bo eating frozen cheesecake out of a box. "If I'm not willing to put my life on the line for them, too, as well as pretty little blond-haired blue-eyed Jane in her clean pink dress, then I should hand Nick my badge and walk away. I watch these to remind myself of that."_

Clint had fallen in love with him just a little more that night.

Now they sat companionably together on the sofa, drinking beer and eating pizza in front of bad television. Clint watched as Phil slowly relaxed, the weight of the fucked-up mission starting to slide off his shoulders.

Clint rubbed at his left ear where one of his hearing aids was irritating him.

"Do you mind?" he asked, taking them out and putting them on the coffee table.

 _No problem_ , Phil signed and hit the caption button on the TV remote. Clint smiled.

"Thanks," he said and signed at the same time. He loved that Phil had made the effort to learn to sign; it had even come in handy in the field, once or twice.

They were finished the pizza, on their third beers and third episode of Supernanny, when Clint saw Phil suddenly reach for his phone.

"Damn," Phil said when he read the message, and tensed up again.

Clint sat up, alert. "What's wrong?"

"Kovin didn't make it," Phil said, looking up from his phone so that Clint would be able to read his lips, and finger-spelling _Kovin_ then signing _dead_.

"Fuck," Clint said, and slouched back down, shaking his head at the unfairness of the universe. He'd done the best he could. He couldn't have shot the guy with the Uzi any faster than he had, but it still hadn't been enough. He remembered watching Phil fall, and the sick feeling in his stomach.

Phil sat for a minute, staring at his phone, not moving. Then he switched it off, put it down on the table, and stood up. He went to the bookcase, one shelf of which served as a liquor cabinet, and came back with an expensive-looking bottle and two glasses, which he put down on the coffee table.

 _Drink with me?_ he signed.

Clint nodded and accepted the proffered glass of amber liquid. Scotch, good stuff. What Phil drank when he was feeling maudlin or nostalgic. They'd had a mission end on November 11th, once, and Phil had dragged him into a bar and asked the bartender for the best scotch he had. Back then Clint they drank to Phil's old army buddies. Now they were drinking to Kovin.

Phil didn't say anything. Clint didn't know if that was because he didn't know how to sign 'Rest in Peace,' or if it was just because there was nothing to say. Phil gestured at Clint with his glass, and then drank. Clint did the same. The raw-tasting liquor burned his throat, but he managed not to choke. He only ever drank hard stuff with Phil or Nat, and only when they needed him to; scotch with Phil and vodka with Nat.

Phil tossed back the rest of his drink and picked up the bottle for a refill. He raised an eyebrow at Clint, holding the bottle out towards him. Clint finished the rest of his drink with a gulp and held out his glass. He rarely got drunk, but right now, safe in Phil's apartment at the end of a crappy mission with his best friend in the world, having just been reminded so vividly of the perils of their job... well, it seemed like a pretty good idea.

He nursed this one, though, leaning back into the cushions and turning back to the screen. Phil did the same.

A while later he found that his glass was empty, so he leaned forward to put it on the coffee table, and toppled sideways into Phil when he leaned back. That felt kinda nice. Phil's shoulder was warm and soft and he could smell Phil's aftershave. And Phil didn't seem to mind. He wasn't saying anything about it, anyway.

'Might as well take the opportunity while I can get it,' Clint thought mussily, and snuggled closer, half-draping himself against Phil's side. Phil's only response was to move his arm so that it rested across Clint's shoulders, allowing him to snuggle closer. Clint looked up, but Phil was still watching the show. He let his eyes drift closed.

It was nice. All warm and fuzzy and Phil had his arm around him and he was snuggled into Phil's side and Phil smelled so good and Phil's skin was so soft. Phil's skin... Clint had tucked his face into the crook of Phil's neck, and was... nuzzling him. Maybe Phil was passed out. In which case he should stop, Clint thought. He should stop and... Phil's thumb twitched where it was resting on Clint's bare arm. Clint held his breath. Phil's thumb started to rub in small arcs back and forth across his bicep.

'This is such a bad idea,' Clint thought, as he kissed Phil's neck. Soft little kisses, just barely there, climbing slowly up Phil's neck to his jaw. Phil's thumb was still sweeping across the skin of his arm in a slow rhythm, so Clint matched it as he kissed along Phil's jaw, again, just the lightest of touches. Something was starting to build between them. It was as if time had stopped, and reality was suspended.

Clint felt giddy, a little light-headed because of the alcohol, and doing something that he'd dreamed of, but never thought he'd dare. Whatever happened, he knew they could blame it on the booze, laugh it off, and that made him bold. Clint moved. Slowly and sinuously like a cat, rubbing himself against Phil's side, sliding an arm around Phil's waist and slipping his fingers under the hem of Phil's t-shirt to touch warm skin.

He felt Phil's intake of breath, felt the slow sweeps of Phil's thumb on his arm stutter, then speed up.

"Phil," Clint said on a whispered breath, his lips at the corner of Phil's mouth. Phil turned his head, and they were kissing. Deeply, ravenously, messily. Phil's other arm came around Clint and pulled him close. Clint twisted until he was almost on top of Phil, who was leaning back into the corner of the sofa. Phil tasted of scotch and pepperoni and all of Clint's longing. They kissed and kissed and kissed. One of Phil's hands found Clint's ass and grabbed. Clint ground a hard dick into Phil's thigh. Phil's hips bucked up into him.

There were so many things Clint wanted to say, like, 'Yes' and 'please' and 'oh, god Phil.' What he said, when Phil wrenched his lips away, and stared at him, wild-eyed and panting was, "No, don't stop."

"This..." Phil said, pulling in another lungful of air, "This isn't a good idea. We shouldn't - " then he seemed to remember that Clint didn't have his hearing aids in, and the hand that had been on Clint's ass flapped, signing clumsily _Stop now._ _Maybe future_.

Clint was off the sofa and standing in the middle of the room, swaying a little.

"No," he said, and he knew his voice was too loud, but he didn't care. "Don't tell me 'maybe'. Tell me 'no'. Tell me this was a mistake. That it can't happen, ever. Don't give me hope, I'm not strong enough to deal with that. I can't... I can't..." Words that Clint would never have said if he were sober tumbled out of his mouth until he couldn't find any more, and started to talk with his hands, instead.

_You in my heart._

Phil's expression went from confused to horrified. He fought his way out of the sofa and stood up, nearly fell over, and took a staggering step forward to keep his balance. Clint reached out instinctively and caught his arm. They both swayed but stayed on their feet.

"Clint," Phil said, and then remembered that Clint didn't have his hearing aids in and started to sign, haltingly, as he spoke.

"I didn't mean it was a mistake." _I not say no_. "It's not a mistake, not for me, anyway, not if you want... if you..." _No mistake me. You?_

Phil made a frustrated sound and stepped towards Clint, who lost his balance, stumbled backwards, and hit the wall behind him.

"Clint please. Please." _Please._ Phil reached out with the hand that had just signed 'please,' but didn't touch. He waited. Clint nodded. Phil stepped in close, and put his lips next to Clint's ear.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I care about you, Clint. So much. You are so important to me. That's why I stopped. I don't want this to happen and then not remember it in the morning. If it's real, I don't want to miss any of it."

Clint brought a hand up to cradle the back of Phil's head, wrapped his other arm around Phil's back to pull him in close.

"It's real. I care about you too. Have for a long time. Never thought you'd feel the same way."

"I do, Clint, I swear I do."

Clint leaned back against the wall and pulled Phil to him. It felt so good, so safe: a wall at his back and Phil pressed against his front. Phil cared about him. Phil wanted this.

"Phil." Clint slid his hand into Phil's hair and kissed his cheek. Phil kissed back, just below Clint's ear. Then again. They drew back just enough to find each other's lips. The kisses started out soft, gentle, reassuring, but soon they were back to the passionate, demanding, desperate kisses they'd shared on the sofa.

Clint felt one of Phil's legs slide between his thighs and he moaned into the kiss as two hard cocks rubbed up against each other through layers of fabric. Phil pulled his mouth away again.

"Don't stop. Phil, please don't stop. I want this, want it so much. Want you."

"And I want you." Phil's voice was low and rough and it was the sexiest thing Clint had ever heard.

"Please," Clint said again, giving a little thrust of his hips into Phil and making him groan.

"Is - " Phil gasped as Clint mouthed the skin below his ear. "Is this okay?" he asked with his fingers on the button of Clint's jeans.

"Yes. God yes, Phil. Anything. Anything you want. Wanted this for so long, Phil."

"Me too. Thought about you. Dreamed about you. Your body. What it would feel like to hold you. To kiss you. To touch you." Phil was gasping the words into Clint's ear as he unfastened Clint's jeans and pushed them down, then did the same with his own pants. His hand fumbled as he wrapped his fingers around Clint's shaft, and then lined himself up so that he could get his hand around both of their stiff cocks.

"Oh, god. Phil. So good. That's so good."

"Just this, okay? Tonight, just this. Then we'll go to bed, and in the morning, when we're sober, if you still want - "

"Fuck yes I'm still gonna want you Phil. I've wanted you forever. Thought of you when I was alone in my bunk at night. Can't tell you how many times I've jerked off thinking about you. Thinking about going to my knees for you. Sucking you off. You want that Phil? You want me to suck your cock?"

"Fuck, Clint. Yes. Yes I want to feel your mouth on me." Phil's hand sped up on their cocks. He leaned his forehead against Clint's, looking into his eyes, both of them panting for breath. "Want to suck you too. Want to do everything with you, Clint. Want you so much."

"Fuck, oh fuck, Phil, I'm close. I'm so close."

"Yeah," Phil said, but anything else was pre-empted by a long, loud moan as he jerked and came in his fist, the warm wetness coating both their cocks and making Clint gasp and come a moment later.

Clint opened his eyes to see Phil's bright ones staring at him so intently that it felt like Phil was looking deep into his soul.

"Hi," Clint said, with what he was sure was a goofy grin on his face. A great orgasm always made him a little goofy.

"Hi yourself. That was incredible," Phil said, looking a little dumbstruck at the fact that he'd just had sex with Clint up against his living room wall.

"Yeah, it was. Pretty sure I'm gonna remember it in the morning, too," Clint said.

Phil grinned then, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Yes. I think I will too."

"Speaking of which," Clint cleared his throat and looked off to the side. "Uh, earlier you said something about going to bed..."

"I'd like you to stay the night. In my bed, with me. If you want to that is, I - "

"I want. Very much. I, uh, I guess we'll have a lot to talk about tomorrow, huh?"

"Yes. But Clint, don't worry about that. It's going to be fine. I promise. Whatever we need to work out, we'll work out. I just... I want to be with you." The open, earnest look on Phil's face melted away all Clint's doubts and fears.

"And I want to be with you. So much."

"Then it'll be fine."

"Yeah, okay." If Phil said it was going to be fine, then it was.

"You use the bathroom first," Phil said, nodding his head towards the appropriate door. "I'll lock up. Help yourself to whatever you need. You know where everything is."

"Yeah. Thanks." Once the bathroom door was closed behind him, Clint leaned on the counter and stared at himself in the mirror. The remnants of the goofy grin still lingered on his face. Phil wanted him. They were going to be together. Whatever that meant. Clint was pretty sure it meant more sex, and probably more hanging out together, and maybe some other stuff he didn't know about, but trusted Phil to tell him. Phil wanted him.

'You are one lucky sonova bitch, Clint Barton,' he said quietly to his reflection in the mirror. 'Try not to fuck it up.'

He stripped and cleaned up quickly with a warm washcloth. He scrubbed his teeth with his finger and some of Phil's toothpaste, and ran his hands through his hair. Then he shrugged and laughed at himself. 'He knows what you look like, and you've already done the dirty, no point in trying to pretty up now.'

He left his clothes folded on the corner of the counter and walked naked back out into the hall. Phil was in the living room, punching a code into the alarm system on the wall.

"The disarm is my SHIELD personal identification code number, in case you need it," Phil said, looking over his shoulder so that Clint could see him speaking.

Clint couldn't help the silly grin that spread across his face. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

"Go to bed. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Still more than a little drunk, Clint couldn't help the feeling of surreality as he climbed into Phil's bed. He even pinched himself, hard, to make sure he was awake, and that all this wasn't a pizza-and-beer-fueled dream. Though he wasn't sure how the pinching yourself thing was supposed to work: in a dream, things did sometimes hurt... He'd had enough nightmares about bleeding out in an alleyway to know that. But this felt real. Phil's soft navy blue sheets and burgundy-trimmed coverlet that he snuggled under, the extra-firm mattress that he stretched out on, the pair of thick, fluffy pillows that he rested his head on, and then folded his arms under as he stared at the ceiling of Phil's bedroom... It felt very, very real indeed.

He could hear the occasional faint sound from the bathroom, and wondered if he should get up and retrieve his hearing aids from the coffee table. He didn't want to put them back in, but having them nearby... On the other hand the bed was soft and comfortable and he and Phil had been communicating well enough without them, so...

Before he'd managed to make a decision, Phil appeared, naked, in the bedroom doorway.

"I've waited a long time to see you in my bed," Phil said, then signed: _See you my bed wait long._

"It'd be better if you were in it with me," Clint said, and watched Phil's smile widen as he crossed the room and climbed in beside him.

"You are absolutely right about that," Phil said, pulling Clint close and speaking into his ear, and then kissing his cheek, his jaw, his lips.

"I almost can't believe this is really happening," Clint said when they parted for breath.

Phil laughed. "Me neither. I actually pinched myself while I was in the bathroom to make sure I was awake and not dreaming."

"Not dreaming," Clint said, and he pulled Phil to him and urged him to snuggle close. "Just to be sure I didn't misunderstand you earlier - we're having sex again in the morning, right?"

"Oh yeah," Phil said, kissing the bit of Clint's collarbone that was under his lips. "I'm looking forward to taking my time with you."

"Sounds like fun. Good night, Phil."

"Good night, Clint." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to The Exclamation for beta reading!


End file.
